


Enter the Animus

by pocketcucco



Series: Father and Son [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketcucco/pseuds/pocketcucco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This wouldn't be happening if my goddamned father and a few of his forebears didn't decide to join up with the Assassins." Modern AU, part of the Father and Son universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enter the Animus

**Author's Note:**

> This one was based on a prompt I got via tumblr, asking if I could write something about Haytham's time in the Animus in the Father and Son universe. It got a bit longer than I was expecting, but it was fun to write some pre-story stuff for a change!

"We need you back in the Animus today."

"I've been in nearly every day since last week. Do you  _honestly_ need more information? At this point it seems as though you're being masochistic."

"Birch's orders, not mine."

I stirred idly at my coffee while the researcher spoke. The man was spindly, too tall for his coat and a few inches too wide. He refused to look me in the eye; always had, really, since he started relaying Reginald Birch's demands to me earlier in the past week.

I decided I didn't like him early on. I think he was well aware of this, given the way he glanced furtively in my direction only when he thought I wasn't paying attention. I don't think I ever got his name, either.

"You're scheduled to start in a few minutes, Mr. Kenway. We'll be waiting for you in the usual room."

"Lovely," I said dryly. But the researcher was already gone, clicking briskly down the hall in his polished shoes.

I took a long sip from my cup and sighed. The coffee was lukewarm and unappetizing – as office-made coffee is always apt to be - but Charles had brought it for me and he always seemed offended if I didn't drink at least half of it. Perhaps one day the poor lad would learn that I preferred tea to coffee.

I set the cup down. I was procrastinating, putting off the inevitable. So I stood, locked my office, and set off for my own private hell.

The Animus room - a wide, sprawling section of the floor dedicated to the Animus units that were available to the general public, if for whatever reason they decided to relive the memories of distant ancestors - lay beyond the office halls. It was quiet that Thursday afternoon; only a few of the machines were being used, and the rest of the researchers were milling about. Didn't they have better things to do? Where was Johnson? He was in charge of these men and women, so why wasn't he-

"Haytham."

Speak of the devil. My old friend approached me from behind and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Good morning, William," I said. I kept walking toward the elevators, and he followed.

"Are they asking you to sit in for another session?"

"Yes."

Johnson frowned. "This is the eighth day in a row."

"I'm well aware."

"Have they told you what they want?"

"Information on a precursor site... Pieces of Eden... Something or other." I waved a dismissive hand. "This wouldn't be happening if my goddamned father and a few of his forebears didn't decide to join up with the Assassins."

"Well..." Johnson hesitated for a moment before he offered me a helpless shrug. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It's not your fault."

"So I take it you won't be joining us for lunch?"

"Not today."

Johnson gave me a sympathetic smile as I boarded the elevator and pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

"Good luck," he said as the doors slid shut.

The floor I wanted wasn't very high up; we were already on the tenth, so in moments the doors opened once more and I stepped out into a quiet hall. Fewer researchers and other Abstergo employees were here; this floor was reserved for private Animus rooms, for the exclusive donors and unfortunate souls such as myself. I walked down the long corridor until I found what I'd begun to refer to as My Room in the past week.

It was a lovely room, I'll give them that. The ceilings were high and the walls all made of glass; the better to offer us a view of the massive park behind the building. From our perch I could see the vast canopy of trees, all of them changing colors for the fall, and the vibrant blue of the mid-morning sky.

And then I saw my litany of researchers and associates, and whatever good feeling the view gave me disappeared almost instantly.

"'Morning, Haytham," Church said. He had his clipboard of notes balanced in one arm while he bit into a bagel. Crumbs cascaded from his mouth and onto his front. What a sight.

"Hello, Church. Is everything ready?"

"Just about. The system's still waking up."

As are you, it seems, I thought. But I kept my mouth shut. It was never a good idea to insult the man operating your Animus unit; this was something I learned the first time I ever climbed into one.

Someone else bustled through the doors. "Good morning, sir," Charles said. His expression was far more apologetic than Church's. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Mr. Birch went over the footage from yesterday. He said the session today won't be long at all."

"How reassuring," I said, deciding to ignore the fact that he said this almost every day.

The Animus suddenly hummed to life behind me. "That's your cue, Haytham," Church said while he typed away at the computer.

Well. I suppose I could delay it no longer. I removed my coat slowly and threw it over the arm of one of the nearby chairs. Charles plucked it up almost immediately and hung it by the door while I seated myself in the Animus. One of the benefits of being an Abstergo employee was that we had the newest models - which meant our Animus units were cushioned and comfortable, unlike the flat, metallic beds given to the public machines. I settled myself in and waited for the visor to slide over my eyes.

"Let's see... Yes, it's all set," Church said. "Just close your eyes, and-"

"I'm well aware of what to do."

"Yes, yes. Ready when you are."

I let my eyes slide shut. For a moment, there was nothing but darkness; the lull before the Animus began working was always tense. My body felt weightless. Suspended.

And then the images started to form - slowly at first, in dull watercolors across the backs of my eyelids. I found my balance as the world blossomed around me in brilliant color and sound.

That was something else I hated about the Animus. Everything - every sight, every sound, every color and smell - came at you all at once. It was terribly disorienting, even for someone like me, who had used the system every day for a week. I found myself stumbling as a familiar city began to grow around me.

Charles's voice came through the speakers, echoing across the landscape. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I said, though I could already feel a headache pulling at my temples. "I'm fine."

I blinked once, twice while I gathered myself. Boston in the 1700s - I was not aware of the exact date they'd thrown me in this time - was such a strange place; dirt roads, animals wandering the streets, colonials in clothing I'd only seen in museum displays. And here I was, walking amongst them, blending in perfectly.

...Well, I had to admit that the Animus was incredibly impressive, even if I hated being in it. The fact that it could recreate an entire world from the ground up... It was truly remarkable. Sometimes I found myself stopping to admire the amount of detail that went into the Animus's world.

"Where did we leave off yesterday?" Church asked. I tried not to roll my eyes. Birch put him in charge of this project - which meant that he was responsible for keeping track of dates, notes, etcetera... But honestly, I don't think any of us were surprised that he'd already forgotten.

"I was to meet with the Assassins here. Find out more about the Apple and where they found it," I said.

"Ah. Right, right."

"Why does Birch want us to travel back this far?" I asked while I navigated the bustling city streets. A pig wandered past, snuffling, its nose pressed to the ground. "We should be looking for the Apple in  _our_ time, not the 1700s."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Because  _you're_ the one in charge of this project."

"Yes, well-"

"Haytham, you're coming up to the Green Dragon," Charles said. He'd taken it upon himself to stop our arguments before they blew out of proportion - which was, of course, what happened too many times in the first few days. One encounter almost ended with me ripping myself from the Animus to bloody Church's nose. A pity that Charles managed to stop us in the end.

"Ah. I see it," I said. A wooden sign bearing a green dragon - the tavern's namesake - swayed with the wind. I pushed open the door and instantly found myself engulfed in a sea of bitter smoke and the lingering stenches of stale sweat and ale.

My head ached even more. Why the Assassins chose such a disgusting headquarters was absolutely beyond me. But I caught sight of one of my contacts in the back corner, a mug clutched in one hand and a packet of documents in the other. I made my way through the crowds.

Someone smashed into my side. I stepped awkwardly to the left and all but knocked over another table. Beer and ale sloshed to the floor, and the entire tavern went absolutely silent.

"Ignore it. Keep walking," Church advised me when I went stock still. The man I'd run into was staring me down, moustache twitching as he spoke. I couldn't hear a word over Church's own blathering, but I gathered something along the lines of "you twat".

My fists clenched. A hidden blade  _snicked_  into place at my wrist. The headache I'd had earlier was growing to the point that my vision was lined with blacks and reds.

"Keep walking, Haytham," Church was saying. "Your ancestor didn't confront these men. Just keep going and they'll ignore you."

I ignored him. "Pardon?" I asked the men facing me.

One of them snickered. "I said, what the  _hell_ are you staring at, twat?"

Something in me snapped. Thinking back, I can't quite explain what it was: frustration at this whole situation, perhaps. Or maybe it was that god awful migraine. Either way, I had little patience for this man and his companions, and I wanted nothing more than to wipe the smile from his face.

Another pro to the Animus: it was a good place to vent your frustrations. You could kill without suffering real life repercussions, for one. Or in my case, you could punch the absolute shit out of someone and come out of the fight with no scratches, stabs, or bruises to speak of.

Church and Charles did forcibly pull me from the Animus this time, though. I was wondering why - we'd continued through these migraines before, even when I managed to desynchronize - but Charles handed me a handkerchief and gestured to my nose.

I touched it with my fingers. They came away bloody.

* * *

Home was far more inviting after a long day spent in an Animus unit. I threw my briefcase in the entry as soon as I walked in the door and tried not to shout curses at it when the clasp opened and my papers came spilling out.

Just my luck, really. I left them where they fell and made my way to the living room, where I dropped onto the sofa and let my eyes close. My body felt heavy, my head was still throbbing, and for the moment I wanted nothing more than to sink into the cushions and stay there for the rest of the month.

And then a pair of deliciously warm arms wrapped around my neck and drew me close.

"Another bad day?"

Ziio's words tickled my neck. I reached one hand up to clasp hers.

"Very," I drawled.

"What in the world are they making you do over there? This has been going on for over a week now."

"Ridiculous things."

"And I take it your good friend Reginald Birch is behind it?"

"He means well. He's just...earnest. We're close to a breakthrough. I can't blame him, really."

"Mhm."

Ziio's hands worked gently at the knots in my shoulders. She was by no means a professional, but her massages were wonderful after long days like that one.

"Have you spoken to him about it?"

"No. He's all the way in London. What's the point?"

"If it's upsetting you this much-"

"It's fine. We'll be finished soon enough."

"You said that last week."

I tried to shrug, but I felt boneless at her touch. Her lips were closer now - close enough that I could feel them brush against my neck.

"They mean it this time," I said, thinking of my bloodied nose. That hadn't happened to me before, and it actually frightened Church enough that he called off the session and sent me home.

"That's good," she said thoughtfully. "Are you hungry? Dinner's almost ready."

"In a bit."

"Hm. Maybe I can find another way to help you relax?"

"What exactly do you have in mind? I don't know if I can get up."

"You won't have to."

She kissed me deliberately then - along my jaw, at my right ear, at the corner of my mouth.

My exhaustion seemed to disappear then.


End file.
